Melancholy

Blue isn't my color

But every once in a while

You run out of passion

And joy

Even pain

Red fades, yellow washes away

Black, well black remains

But it's so easily stained

buried, choked, silenced

by the blue

I'm not sure when I embraced it

I don't think it was choice

I must have spilled the rest

Watched them run

A lovely river of colors

As my desperate outstretched fingers

Closed their hold

Salvaging

What I didn't know at the time

was a poisonous blue.

It stays. It stains.

Turning blue is always unpleasant.

Painful. Chilly.

Can't breathe.

Those words, careless.

In shimmering blue.

Time to paint.

Pretty purple?

Crimson and gold?

Choose.

Or drown

in a beautiful sunlit blue.